


I’ll Worship like a Dog at the Shrine of Your Lies

by the north remembers (jaburr)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Banter, Drunk!Robb is the Robb we deserve, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jon is jealous, M/M, Sibling Incest, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 00:36:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18981598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaburr/pseuds/the%20north%20remembers
Summary: “I’ve wanted to do that since we were fifteen.” Jon tells him finally, open and honest.





	I’ll Worship like a Dog at the Shrine of Your Lies

**Author's Note:**

> i’m terrible at writing explicit sex so you have to really use your imagination on this one. title is from the hozier song Take Me to Church.

He shouldn’t be having such unholy thoughts about Robb. Especially not when they’re at the feast being held to honor King Robert Baratheon visiting the North. Jon’s in exile, skulking his way through his third stein of ale, sitting with men he’s already forgotten the names of in the corner of the Hall. He’s fed all but scraps to Ghost under the table, who had accepted eagerly and licked his fingers clean in thanks. Robb is laughing at something Theon is saying, throwing his head back and Jon wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole at the sight. He’s drunk, Jon can tell from the way his cheeks are flushed bright crimson like his hair, and he meets Jon’s eyes from across the hall, giving him a small wave and a smile. Jon wants to ravish him, pin him up against a wall in one of the dark hallways and undo him completely. He wants to mark him so that when Theon tries to make him laugh again he’ll see Jon’s kisses running across his neck and know who he belongs to. Jon knows he can not, though. He opts to sneak out of the hall as the men start to disperse, jesting and carrying on loudly as they head down to Wintertown for drunken company. Jon feels like a child, Ghost trotting next to him in the cool night air, and he decides to cut through the stables on his way back to his chambers. He’s forced to share with Robb while the King is in Winterfell, and he’d thought it would not have been so bad, they’d shared quarters as boys, huddled under furs for warmth before. 

He’s completely wrong, a dammed fool. He’d woken to Robb draped over him like a blanket, head nuzzled under his chin and arms loose around his waist. Jon’s heart felt it was going to beat right out of his chest, he’d done the proper thing and peeled Robb off himself gently before sneaking out and going to the Godswood to watch the sun come up. He feels a blush burn from his ears, a slow warm path down across his face as he wanders into the empty stables. He tries to sober himself in the quiet company of the horses, who all welcome him with gentle chuffs in greeting. He doesn’t know how long he stays in their somber company, feels himself nearly dozing off in the pile of hay he’d kicked together to rest upon. Jon picks the hay off himself as he drags back to the castle, winding through the now silent halls and into the dark chambers he shares with Robb. He can barely make out Robb laying spread across the bed, like he’d been dumped across it, clothes and boots still on. Jon holds back a laugh, starts to undress until he’s down to his undershirt and small clothes. He maneuvers himself into the bed, ignores the panging he feels deep in his chest as he easily moves Robb onto his side. 

“Jon?” Robb mutters, voice scratchy with sleep, and rolls over again to fist his hand in Jon’s shirt. 

“It’s just me.” Jon says soothingly. 

“Can you help me take my boots off, please?” Robb whispers, closer now, close enough Jon can smell the remnants of wine on his breath. 

“Yeah.” Jon sits up, maneuvers himself toward the foot of the bed and pulls Robb’s legs into his lap. He starts unlacing one, tugging it off and throwing it on the floor with a soft thud. 

Robb sighs, flexing his leg against Jon’s hip where it’s now resting. “Thank you.” 

“Did Theon bring you back?” Jon tries to keep the snarking jealousy out of his tone, fails but Robb is too groggy to pick up on it. 

“No, came back here myself, he went down to the brothel, I think. Wanted to fuck.” Robb tells him, sniffs and Jon feels him sit up, pulling his shirt off. It lands on the floor beside the bed with a soft noise, and Jon pulls off Robb’s other boot, harder than the last one and tosses it down on the ground.

“Stay on your side of the bed tonight, will you?” Jon shoves at his shoulder playfully, met with the warm skin of his bare shoulder, swallows thickly around the growing lump in his throat. His eyes are adjusting to the dark, enough that he can make out the hurt look that crosses Robb’s face. It’s fleeting, but Jon catches it all the same. 

“Yes, of course.” He mumbles, pulling his legs from where they’re splayed out across Jon’s lap and working his breeches down his hips. The cold air hits Jon like a slap in the face, and he scrambles up to the headboard, tucking beneath the furs. Robb settles, finally, his back to Jon, and he knows he’s upset. Neither of them speak, Robb’s steady breathing soothing Jon into sleep.

He’s nearly dozed off when Robb rolls over. “What’d you mean by that?” Jon loves him, loves him more than anyone and anything in all the realms, but he’s never wanted Robb to shut the fuck up more in his life than he does in this moment. 

“Huh?”

“What you just said.” Robb drops his voice to mimic Jon’s gravely baritone. “Stay on your side of the bed. The hell does that mean?” Robb’s irritated, and maybe Jon had misread his expression earlier. 

“I didn’t mean anything by it, go to sleep.” Jon growls, scrubs his hand over his jaw where stubble is forming. 

“Liar.” Jon thinks he might smack him. 

“Fine. Fine, Robb, I said that because I woke this morning and you were practically on top of me, and my entire body had gone numb. It took an hour for the feeling to come back to my fingers.” Jon snarks, he knows he’s being dramatic and lashing out, Robb’s just asking, but gods he’s tired. 

“Oh.” Robb says, simply. He goes quiet, Jon can’t even hear him breathing. “You weren’t here when I woke, is that why you left?” 

“Yes- No, I could not sleep, I decided to go for a walk. That’s all.” Jon backpedals, sensing the palpable hurt in Robb’s tone. He doesn’t know why Robb is so bothered by his leaving, he’d had the whole bed to himself and that was going to be a rare commodity for the next few weeks. “Why are you so bothered by it?” Jon wishes he could take the words back as soon as he speaks them. 

“I’m not.” Robb huffs, Jon imagines he’s scrunching his nose up. It’s probably cute, even though he’s angry. Robb is rarely intimidating, at least in Jon’s eyes. He’s soft and gentle and always laughing politely at Greyjoy’s stupid jokes and Jon can’t seem to see him as anything but that. It’s probably not a good thing. 

“Yes you are, or you would’ve ignored what I said.” Jon is awake now, and he’s decided to get an explanation. 

“I was cold, and wondered where you’d gone off to so early. Does that please you, Jon?” 

“You were cold? I stoked the fire before I left and you had all the furs to yourself.” He challenges, and Robb rolls over, his face inches from Jon’s. 

“Yes. I was fucking cold. Shut up about it.” Robb growls back. He’s so close and Jon thinks about kissing him, holding him down against the bed until he can’t be angry anymore, but Jon had already provoked him to near fury so he decides to keep at it. 

“I think you just wanted me with you.” Jon retorts, barely above a whisper, and Robb’s close enough to hear it but he’s breathing so hard through his nose that Jon can’t be sure he’s listening. Robb stops snorting like an ox, falls silent and Jon knows he’s really gone and done it now. Robb wasn’t one for physical anger, but he could hold a grudge for days, and his way of letting you know he was angry was silence. Jon hates that he’s pleased with himself in that moment, maybe because he’s felt that this thing between them was a one sided sickness, but with every tense moment passing he knows it’s not. Robb feels it too, the pull, and he’s given up resisting it. 

“Why would I care if you’re here when I wake? We’re grown men, I’m not some maiden waiting for her husband to return from war.” Robb finally snaps, yanking the furs to his chin and Jon laughs a little, at the way Robb is acting like Sansa when Arya flicked food at her during the feast. 

“You’re acting like a maid right now.” Jon presses closer, until Robb is nearly underneath him and Jon looms over him, casting a deeper shadow across his face. Robb stares up at him, chewing at his lip. 

“Well? Do you like it, Snow?” He’s scrabbling for control, knows he’s pinned and this is his last attempt at turning back. It’s a warning, clear as day, Jon knows. He’s never been much for warnings though, never liked being told the proper way to do things. 

“Yeah.” Jon runs his hand up through Robb’s hair, pulling back lightly so Robb has to strain to stare up at him. Robb sighs, mouth dropping open slightly and Jon presses down against him, lips barely brushing Robb’s. He’s teasing, dancing around an actual kiss until Robb yanks him down flush against him, his shirt scratching against Robb’s bare chest. He slots their mouths together then, swiping his tongue against Robb’s bottom lip insistently. They kiss hungrily for a while, Jon doesn’t know for how long, until he needs to pull back to take a breath. He glances at Robb’s mouth, pretty and swollen and red. 

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He tells Robb, punctuating his statement by biting a bruise into his neck. Robb keens, almost singsong and arches into the sensation, blunt nails scrabbling across Jon’s back. 

“Prettier than a maid, huh?” Robb moans, dragging Jon away from kissing down his chest back to his mouth. It’s lazier this time, Jon notes, pressing down against Robb. 

“Prettier than any maid I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” Jon presses one last kiss firm across his lips, rolling over onto his side. Robb just stares at him, curls mused and eyes shining. Jon stares back, still a little drunk, and finally flops down onto his back, pulling Robb closer to him. He curls into his side, resting his head on Jon’s shoulder, and Jon falls asleep warm and heavy. 

He wakes up the next morning with needles prickling through his arm, Robb strewn across him. His head pounds, and he vows never to drink again. He will though, most likely again tonight, when the great hall is full of the King’s men and Robb is sitting next to Theon, laughing again. He squints, sees the bruise he’d left lightly purple against Robb’s pale neck, and that makes him feel a little better. He runs his fingers across it, pressing a little and Robb stirs, groaning dramatically. 

“God’s I’m never drinking again.” He mutters, burrowing his head against Jon’s sternum. “Do not let me drink ever again, Jon.” 

“I will do my best until this evening when you’re drinking at the feast.” Jon teases, presses a kiss to the crown of his head and Robb grumbles something about him being a prick. They lay entangled in each other for a while longer, until Jon is restless. He sweeps his thumb over the swell of Robb’s jaw, kisses him softly. Robb arches into it, tangles his fingers in Jon’s raven colored hair and ruts his hips against Jon’s pelvis. The movement sends sparks rolling up Jon’s spine and he moans at the sensation, rumbling against Robb’s tongue. Robb laughs against his mouth, then suddenly serious slots his hand between them, and Jon bucks against the touch. Robb moves to kiss at his neck then, nipping and sucking as he works his hand over Jon, breath hot against his neck. Jon can feel the pit in his stomach like a stone, growing until he’s shuddering against Robb who nuzzles into him and moans. Robb looks at him, slowly brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them, one by one and Jon feels as though his entire body is on fire. 

“Gods, Robb,” Jon says breathless, pushes him onto his back and ruts against him until Robb is whining, a high keening sound, pressing closer to Jon, nails scraping down to claw into his shirt. 

“Jon,” He pants, voice cracking. Jon whispers to him, something only for them to know he thinks, and Robb finally stills, breath caught in his throat for a beat. They lie there, panting like animals, Jon heavy on top of Robb. He should move, can’t bring himself to, Robb’s neck is craned at an angle that Jon finds perfect to bite. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since we were fifteen.” Jon tells him finally, rolls over onto his back beside Robb. 

“Why haven’t we? Done that, I mean.” He supplies at Jon’s quizzical face. 

“I do not know, but as long as I have you in my bed I intend to make you sound like that every night.” Jon smiles softly at the man lying next to him, eyes bright and shining. Robb kisses him, gentle and pliant. 

“Maybe I can convince Father to make King Robert stay longer.” His eyes twinkle with a mischief Jon hasn’t seen in him since they were fifteen, an effect of being heir, he supposes. He decides he’ll do whatever it takes to see that look upon Robb’s face as oft as he can. Jon pulls him close, kisses his hair. Robb sighed, content in his arms, neck and jaw pink from where Jon had marked him. And nobody would ever know, that Jon had wrecked the future King of the North so beautifully, but he would. That was enough.


End file.
